


Merry Christmas, John

by Phoenix2319



Series: The Glitter of Broken Bottles [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Christmas Dinner, Cuddles, Cute, Everyone Is Gay, FTM John, FTM Sherlock Holmes, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Myrial is a cute old lady, Sherlock is a cat, Sherlock is a scientist, Sherlock's family is passive aggressively transphobic, Teen Angst, Trans Character, Trans John, Trans Male Character, Trans Sherlock, the holmes estate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix2319/pseuds/Phoenix2319
Summary: “Merry Christmas, John.” He murmured, just a hair's breadth away, warm air ghosting over John’s lips, startling him to let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Sherlock's in a more firm kiss, eyes slipping closed naturally.





	Merry Christmas, John

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo everyone! This fic came a little later than I was expecting, and it follows "The Glitter of Broken Bottles", but the last chapter of that is still being written, so bare with me. I started this with the intention of writing some sexy trans boy fun time but of course, as always, the plot got in the way. The next installment of this will be pure unadulterated smut, I promise, which will be posted after TGOBB is finished. So close you guys! So close!

John watched the snow fall outside of his window with a peaceful feeling. Soon Sherlock would be here to take him away. Not literally, mind you; but away from this house for a night. John’s family didn’t really do anything for Christmas, not since he was a child. So when Sherlock asked if he would like to come over to his house for dinner Christmas eve, he jumped at the offer. He fiddled with the small box in his hands for the millionth time that day. The box was made of green and red plaid, no bigger than what would hold a ring, with a silver silk bow tied neatly around it.

_I hope he likes it… John thought fretfully._

The doorbell rang and he jumped up to grab his coat, slipping the gift into his pocket, then ran down stairs.

“Jane! You’re punk boyfriend is here!” Harry yelled from downstairs. John was already bounding down the steps, barely even stopping to put his shoes on.

“He’s not my boyfriend Harry.” And he was out the door, almost running straight into Sherlock who was standing on the steps. Sherlock grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him, trying his best not to fall backwards down the steps.

“In a rush?” Sherlock chuckled, causing John to blush.

“Let’s just get the hell out of here.” He mumbled into his coat. The taller boy nodded and trotted down the stairs to a sleek black car.

“Since when do you have a car?” John asked. Even from behind him, John could tell he was rolling his eyes.

“It's the family car. I prefer to use my own means of transportation, but it's a Holiday.”

“Oh so my Christmas present is not taking the train to your house?” Sherlock opened the door.

“No, it's my Christmas present. Mycroft needed it.” He shot a smirk over his shoulder before crawling across the back seat and leaving the door open for John. John laughed and climbed into the car after him. There was a man in a black cap at the wheel, he greeted John with a nod and a smile in the rearview mirror, then looked to Sherlock.

“Just home, please.” The driver nodded and rolled up the partition. John raised a brow at Sherlock.

“Does he talk?” John asked. The taller boy started giggling.

“Of course he talks. My family has very important government ties, it's in his training to be discreet. That includes making himself scarce.” He explained.

“But i'm not a government official, or anyone important at all.” John stated.

:”You’re important to me.” The statement hung there for a few moments, John’s face was slightly pink and Sherlock kept his gaze glued to the outside.

“I should be, according to you, I’m the only one who can stand your smart mouth.” Sherlock smiled.

“Except normally you just call me a twat.”

“You are a twat.” John grumbled, then they both broke out into a fit of giggles.

 

* * *

 

 

The road to Sherlock's house was a mile long, private drive that was protected by a gate with a code. John was beginning to wonder what exactly it was Sherlock’s parents did for a living. When they came to a stop, John climbed out of the car and was awestruck.

“Sherlock, you didn't tell me you lived in a bloody mansion!” He exclaimed, looking down at his ratty christmas sweater under his stained, hand me down coat, and his too long jeans that he had walked holes into. “I’m underdressed..” Sherlock snickered and gestured to what he was wearing. His facial piercings had green and red balls on the ends instead of their traditional silver, and his gauges were replaced with sparkly christmas trees and he had dangling ornament earrings hanging beneath them. Underneath his traditional black trench coat with chains, is a black shirt with a skull wrapped in christmas lights on it, followed by black ripped jeans and combat boots.

“You have a good point.” John laughed.They started walking up the front steps, which were cleared of snow and ice, John noticed. The door was opened by a lady dressed head to toe in a red velvet dress, the collar lined with white feathers and sequins. Her makeup was flawless and her hair was done up so elegantly, John swore he’d seen her in a magazine. And if not, she definitely belonged in one.

“Oh Will, this is the friend you’ve been telling us about?” She stuck out a dainty hand with bright red polished nails. John didn't know whether to kiss it or shake it. Luckily Sherlock blew right past her, grabbing John’s arm and dragging him along with.

“Yes Mummy, this is John, John, that's my mum. We’ll be in my room until dinner, don’t disturb us please.” John shot the woman an apologetic smile and a wave whilst her son hurried them up the grand staircase that split off into two (as all fancy estates had). Sherlock veered to the right and took them down a long corridor with several wooden doors, which looked almost as expensive as John’s house itself, until they got to the very end. Sherlock hesitated before opening the door for a few seconds, and then turned to John.

“Erm… it's kind of messy. And I have some petri dishes culturing with sulfur, but I opened a window this morning so it shouldn’t be too bad but-”

“Sherlock the first time you saw my room I was practically naked, even if it's terrible, it's an eye for an eye.” The taller boy gave him a sardonic smile and pushed open the door. John’s first thought was, yes it smelled slightly of sulfur, but the room was huge! There were clothes piled in the right corner, but everywhere else was filled with scientific equipment and long tables.

“Woah…” He muttered, slowly walking into the room and stepping over articles of clothing. There were tall bookshelves lining the walls high into the vaulted ceiling, filled with science books and several complete encyclopedias from different years. There were charts and medical maps on the walls and he thought he spotted a few x-rays clipped to a makeshift light board hung on the wall as well.

“Jesus, where do you sleep?” John turned and asked, realizing there wasn't even a bed amongst the clutter. Sherlock beamed at him, probably deducing that John was impressed. He pointed up to the back wall where John noticed a ladder on the wall and followed it up to a loft that was walled off from the rest of the room.

“That's my actual room technically. This was the nursery when Mycroft and I were younger. By the time I was grown enough to not have a Nanny, Mycroft was already at boarding school and I had well developed my… Talents, as they call it. So Mummy had a loft built so I couldn't use the majority of the space for a lab.”

“And a laundry bin.” John added.

“Well you don’t expect all of my clothes to fit up there do you? Besides it's easier to throw them down here when I take them off rather than lug a basket full of clothes down the ladder. It's more efficient that way.” Sherlock sniffed, walking past him and towards the ladder. “You can put your coat wherever.” John discarded it on the floor near the door and followed him to the ladder.

“It’s nice that it's closed off a bit. That way when people come in they don’t catch you in your knickers.” John laughed. The loft was only about 6 feet off the main floor, so it wasn't too bad of a climb. When they reached the top, Sherlock pulled a curtain closed behind them. It was a moderate space with a full bed in the middle. To the right there was an open closet area that just had shelves and hanger bars that were filled to the brim with dark clothing and various pairs of shoes. There were shelves of odd knick knacks, and what John hoped to god wasn’t a real human skull, sitting on the bedside table next to a glass of half drank water and a book, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Sherlock plopped down on the bed and sprawled back with his arms out, groaning.

“What's that all about?” John asked, sitting on the corner of the bed next to his friend. Sherlock just shook his head.

“Nothing, just really don’t like holidays.” He said. John scoffed at him.

“What do you mean you don’t like holidays. You changed your jewelry and you’re wearing a Christmas shirt. I mean it's quite ghastly, but it still qualifies as Christmas.” Sherlock rubbed his face with his hands dramatically.

“Oh please, John. I’m mocking them. Christmas is a ridiculous concept that was created by humanity and has been warped and twisted over time. Companies use it to hide greed, families use it to hide discontempt, and individuals use it to falsely justify giving things they can’t afford to people they don’t care about because ‘’its the fucking season’. It's all a scam and I don’t particularly like being scammed.” He crossed his arms across his chest, going into a full fledged pout. John thought about the gift in his pocket nervously, unsure how Sherlock would react to it now.

_Maybe I shouldn’t give it to him after all, maybe all of this was a mistake. What if I give it to him and he hates me? What if he kicks me out because I actually like Christma-_

“John?” The boy looked up, startled.

“Y-yes?” Sherlock was sitting up now, leaning towards him.

“I apologize. I know that this is something you probably value, I didn’t mean to shit all over it.” John smiled.

“Well it's too late for that, you berk.” He shoved Sherlock in the shoulder causing him to fall off the bed. Sherlock grabbed him by the ankle and yanked him down onto the carpet with him, tackling him.

“What was that for?” He demanded.

“For ruining Christmas, you twat!” John giggled underneath him, red faced. Pretty soon they were both in a laughing fit, wiping tears from their eyes. Sherlock sat back on his toes and let John sit up. They maneuvered so that they were leaning against the bed, feet stretched out. Sherlock’s almost touched the wall but John's legs were short and they only went to the middle of Sherlock's shins.

“Why did your mum call you Will?’ John asked. Sherlock stiffened next to him.

“Caught that did you?” His voice was low. “My whole family used to call me Will, even before I told anyone I was trans. It’s short for Willow, which was my first given name. When I came out and told my parents the name I had chosen for myself, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, my father laughed and said: ‘It’s a good thing we already call you Will.’ But then I told them I would be going by Sherlock, and that Will would remind me of being a girl too much and I would rather them not call me that. So of course my mother insisted on calling me Will. Because she knows it hurts me.” John looked at his lap in concern.

“I guess your family is pretty passive aggressive with how they misgender you, huh?” He said quietly. Sherlock gave a low hum.

“It’s annoying, but I have to live with it until Mycroft can get me the hell out of here.” John smiled.

“At least he’s nice to you.” Sherlock tried to bite back a smile, but it just came out looking like a lopsided twitch.

“He’s my mortal enemy.” John rolled his eyes.

“Oh come off it. You said it yourself, your brother helped you get hormones when you were 13. How can he be your mortal enemy when he helped you get that?” John tried not to let the jealousy edge into his voice.

“I mean besides that. Just because he isn’t an idiot doesn’t mean I have to like him.” Sherlock huffed. John grit his teeth.

“I dunno. Seems kind of childish to focus so much anger onto someone who helped you through a really hard time in your life.” He bit back.

 _God, how can he be so ridiculous? If Harry helped me with anything related to my transition, all of the bad blood behind us wouldn't mean a thing. How can he take that for granted?_ Sherlock watched the emotions play across John’s face and guilt struck him hard.

“I-I didn’t mean to upset you, John. Don’t misunderstand, I am eternally grateful for how much he helped me and continues to do so, it's just… We aren’t close. Its different for us. We’re different. It's just how we work. Him getting me hormones inst a bonding exercise, just like giving an injured person a bandage isn't and emotional thing. It’s just common sense to us. Give medicine to the sick.” John shrugged and Sherlock gave him a pained look. They sat in silence for a few moments before Sherlock bumped the smaller boy with his shoulder.

“You know… Mycroft could probably get you hormones-”

“I’m not a damned charity case Sherlock. I saw the money you slipped into my guitar case, I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.” John said angrily, Sherlock jumped in surprise.

“That's not what I was insinuating John. I’m not trying to attack you.” Sherlock said quietly, turning to face him, trying to look into his eyes. “I swear.” John glanced over to him and shrugged. Just as he was about to speak, the door opened.

“Gentlemen? I believe dinner is about to be served.” Came a light, slightly snooty voice from the main room. Sherlock tched and crawled towards the ladder.

“You have a butler too?” John asked before climbing after him. Sherlock started laughing.

“No, that's just Mycroft.” John looked at the door from his angle at the curtain and saw a pudgy 20 something man dressed in a sharp looking suit with a christmas themed bow tie. He raised a brow at John, who blushed and focused on crawling down the ladder. They made their way around the various experiments and towards the door, where Mycroft stood holding it open. The boys walked past him, Sherlock still snickering at the butler comment. They started back towards the stairs and Mycroft leaned over to whisper to John.

“But we do actually have a butler. His name is Alister.” He gave John a wink, causing him to blush to his ears.

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner wasn’t… tense, perse. There was mild chatter from Mycroft and his father, Siegfried, about the current political climate. Sherlocks mother, Lydia, talked excitedly with the important staff that were invited to the dinner. But you could feel the tension at the table. No one wanted to address either boy, and for a while it seemed no one would talk to them for the entirety of it, but the chief maid, who also happened to be Lydia’s right hand lady, addressed John after the main course was almost finished.

“So my girl, are you dear William’s sweetheart? Should we be expecting a happy announcement soon?” John stammered at the suggestion that he and Sherlock were together, but the taller boy spoke before he could think of a sentence to form.

“His name is John, Myrial, and he’s my best friend.” He spoke boldly, staring directly at his mother, almost daring her to challenge him. Her smile tightened and she gripped her knife a bit tighter. Myrial squinted at John and adjusted her glasses on her nose.

“My apologies, dear boy. It seems my prescription is a bit weak.” She sent him a wink, John averted his eyes.

“It’s fine.” He mumbled good heartedly, making his voice as deep as he could.

“Yes, well what do you do for work?” Myrial asked. It seemed like she had made it her personal mission to make John talk at this dinner. The conversation between the father and son has come to a halt and all eyes were fixed on John, awaiting his answer. He swallowed the knot in his throat.

“Um…” _Shit I didn’t think that dinner with Sherlock would be this stressful!_

“John’s still in his secondaries.” Sherlock spoke for him. John gave him a look of thanks but his mother spoke up, not even looking from the ham she was cutting on her plate.

“I’m sure John can use… his own words, can’t he sweetie?” She cut a look to Sherlock that could break glass.

“Oh yes, of course _Mummy_ , but you know how I love to be the center of attention.” He steepled his fingers under his chin and bat his eyelashes at her. Mycroft kicked him in the shin from under the table and Sherlock let out a hiss and glared at him.

“Children, that's enough.” Siegfried commanded sternly. Myrial decided this meant it was time for her to continue her interrogation.

“So what is it you want to study, lad?” She asked kindly. John cleared his throat and met her eyes.

“Medicine, ma’am. I want to be a doctor, a surgeon.” He responded. The old lady cooed at him

“My, that's a fine profession. My Arty was a doctor. A pediatrician. He loved helping children and their families. Why is it you want to be a doctor, dear?” _To get out of this shite town_ , John thought.

“I like helping people.” He stated simply. Myrial nodded and then looked to Sherlock.

“William, where did you meet this fine young lad?” John smirked and looked over to the boy in question.

“We met on the train.” Was all he said. John let out a laugh.

“That's all you’ve got to say?” Sherlock raised his hands.

“What else am I supposed to say? We met on a train, did we not?” John laughed again, then looked at Myrial who had a content smile on her face.

“What really happened, was we were on the train, and these blokes from my school started to bother me, and it got physical. Then Sherlock like, out of the blue pinned the one guy up against the wall and he was so scared he was about to pis- I mean uh-” Myrial laughed a merry sound.

“John my boy, I’m old, not prude. I know what piss means!” The whole table was shocked for about two seconds, before the three Holmes men burst into laughter followed by several staff members. Lydia’s face turned an ugly purple with how strained she was to keep the pleasant smile on her face, though it more looked like a tight line than a smile now. John turned beet red and looked down at his plate, laughing slightly. It was odd to see Mycroft laughing so heartily, even in the brief time John had known him, he’s gotten the inkling that Mycroft was a very serious man. After the laughter died down, everyone began to chatter amongst themselves again, but Mycroft directed his attention towards John.

“I am curious to hear the rest of that tale, John.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I threatened some prats that were trying to mess with him, and then proceed to trip over him, bust his lip and his guitar, and then we got coffee.” Sherlock recited for him. Mycroft raised a brow at them.

“Coffee? That seems like a horrid first date to me.” John turned red for the thousandth time that night.

“We’re not dating.” He said, not meeting anyone's eyes. Mycroft held a knowing smile and looked over to Sherlock who also refused to meet his eyes, but for a different reason.

“Is that so, brother mine?”

“Yes.” Sherlock cut. Mycroft raised his brows at them one last time before leaving them be.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the dinner was had uneventfully. Every time someone would call Sherlock something even remotely masculine, Lydia would give a little twitch. John was beginning to suspect that everyone but her and maybe Siegfried were on board with the whole Sherlock being a boy thing. The staff called him William, Mycroft repeatedly called him ‘brother’ in some way or another, and even their father seemed to use neutral terms around him. Everyone at the table had a small conversation with either him or Sherlock, mostly Sherlock. Siegfried gave John a small not of acknowledgment when the dinner was over and the staff on call was taking away the desert plates and the people were standing from their seats. Sherlock tried to snatch John away as quickly as they could, but Myrial caught them at the doorway. Sherlock let out an impatient huff, muttering ‘yes, yes, I know.’ before begrudgingly giving the expectant old woman a kiss on the cheek. She grabbed him in a fierce hug, whispering something in his ear that caused his neck to turn red. John giggled into his hand as he watched the display. Sherlock pulled back from the hug with a fond smile.

“Merry Christmas, Myrial.” The old woman seemed to glow for a moment.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock. You know, I am working on your mother. She slipped up the other day and called you William. Your plan seems to be working.” She gave him a wink and he beamed. 

“That’s the best present I can ask for.”

“You’re mother coming ‘round?” Myrial asked. Sherlock gave her a funny look.

“No, that my plan is working.” The old woman shook her head and waved them off.

“You boys go have fun, but not too much fun, you hear?”

“Yes ma’am.” They said one after the other, then Sherlock was dragging John back to his room.

“What plan is she talking about?” John asked. Sherlock smiled at him with a glint in his eye. 

“I came up with it a year or two after I came out. I knew she was going to be the hardest one, considering how much she hates that I’m trans. So I asked Myrial and all the other staff to start calling me Willam, instead of Sherlock, around her. The idea was that the word association would change her view of Will from Willow to William, that’s another reason I chose that name, and she would start calling my William just by default. I didn’t think to calculate how stubborn she was, I mean I have to get it from somewhere, but I think it's finally working. This is the third time she’s slipped up and called me William just this year, I think maybe by the time I’m 30 she’ll at least be calling me that.” Sherlock looked so proud of his little scheme that it made John laugh a little. Even though it was sad that his mother was so adamant against her own child’s gender identity, it didn’t seem to bother Sherlock all that much. It just provided him with a challenge and a reason to complain from time to time, which was really all he wanted.

They got to his room and Sherlock stopped him at the door.

“Are you still mad at me? From earlier?” John was puzzled for a moment before he remembered their argument about hormones. He smiled softly.

“I had quite literally forgotten all about it, but no I’m not mad. We come from different cultures, there are going to be some social and emotional things that we deal with differently. You and your brother see hormones as an obvious medication, just as someone would treat a cold, or an infection. But, you have to understand my side, at least a little.” Sherlock nodded. “You see, my family and my culture, they think that the correct medicine for transgender people is electro shock therapy. I’m not saying it's right, that's just how it is. So for someone to break out of that mould and offer aid to someone like us, it is an emotional thing. And I would form an emotional bond with that person. I would never be able to think of them as an “enemy” unless they did something to specifically hurt me or the people I care about. Because giving a trans person hormones is not a logical thing where I was raised.” Sherlock nodded, brow furrowed.

“I understand.” he opened the door and made his way towards the ladder, John followed after him. When they got upstairs Sherlock sat on the bed and looked at him.

“I was never raised to be a very emotional person, John. I don’t think I’m capable of understanding a lot of how you think and feel. That’s mostly because you think and feel differently than any average person I’ve met. I don’t know how to calculate your reactions to things because they are unique to you, and not the average person. But at the same time, you’re normal and predictable. You’re a complexity John. I look forward to figuring you out.” John was speechless. He didn’t talk for a long time and Sherlock was starting to get worried.

“Did I upset you?” He looked confused and scared for a brief moment until John shook his head.

“No, that was… that was beautiful, Sherlock. And I-I have something for you. Gime me a mo’” John hurried down the ladder and to his coat, pulling out the small gift hidden inside. He took a deep breath and steeled himself, marching back up the ladder to Sherlock who was in the same position he’d left him in. After chewing on his lip for a second, John finally presented the taller boy with the gift. The small red and green plaid box with the silver bow. Sherlock’s eyes sparkled and for a moment John thought he was going to cry.

“I didn’t…. I didn’t get you anything.” Sherlock looked down into his lap dejectedly. John laughed.

“It's okay, I know how you feel about Christmas.” John took a step forward and held the box out further until it was right under Sherlock’s nose.

“John, I can’t.” He shook his head. John scoffed.

“Just take it, you twat.” Sherlock smiled up at him and snatched the gift from his open palms. John sat down next to him and watched him study the box in his hands. He ran his fingers over the surface and then along the bow. He followed the faux silk all the way to the end of the ribbon, and pulled it slowly until the knot had untied and the string fell to his lap. John held his breath while Sherlock lifted the top of the box open. A small gasp emanated from his lips as he saw what was inside. A small silver angel with the words “Welcome Home” written across it in a small delicate scroll. It sat on a pillow of white satin, the chain of the necklace tucked underneath. John looked down at his feet and fidgeted.

“I know it's kind of girly but-” Sherlock’s large warm hand cupped his jaw and all of a sudden Sherlock’s lips were pressed against his. It was a slow press of soft lips against slightly chapped ones, and it seemed to last an eternity and a second all at once. John forgot to close his eyes, so when Sherlock pulled back he was left frozen and staring like and arse.

“Merry Christmas, John.” He murmured, just a hair's breadth away, warm air ghosting over John’s lips, startling him to let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Sherlock's in a more firm kiss, eyes slipping closed naturally. The hand that was still on his jaw moved to the back of his neck and Sherlock’s long fingers slid into his hair. John brought his own hand up to Sherlock’s chest, then it slowly made its way up to his shoulder. Sherlock shivered under John’s probing fingers that were stroking their way up his collarbone, and deepened the kiss. Within a few minutes John was on his back with both of his hands tangled in Sherlock’s hair, who was crouched over him cradling the back of his head. Sherlocks tongue swiped gently along John’s bottom lip and he arched his chest into Sherlock’s and moaned, digging his fingers into the dark curls they were buried in. The sound reverberated down Sherlock’s thin body and throbbed through his lower regions. He gasped and pulled back a few inches, panting to catch is breath. Beneath him, John’s black dyed hair was a ruffled mess from wandering fingers, and his face was tinged raspberry.

 _Scratch that, he’s flushed from his ears to his chest_. The thought sent another wave of arousal coursing through his body and his hips bucked slightly.

“Sherlock?” John looked up at him through half lidded eyes and bit his kiss swollen lip.

“Yes?” He rasped. John tugged lightly at his hair, which was still clasped between his fingers, making the other boy let out a soft hiss.

“Don’t stop.” John moaned, trying to pull him back down. Sherlock went eagerly but ended up slipping off the end of the bed, which both of them were dangling off of. John giggled and sat up on his elbows to see a ruffled head of curls pop up with a playful scowl underneath.

“Scoot up.” Sherlock demanded. His voice was thick with arousal and it caused the boy on the bed flush with pleasure.

John scooched up the bed until he was sitting in the middle of the bed and Sherlock crawled onto the bed after him. He reminded John of a panther, dressed head to toe in black, slinking towards him.

 _If he had a tail it’d probably be flicking back and forth right now_. John thought with a fond smile. Sherlock crowded into his space and bumped their noses together, resting his forehead against John’s and gazing into his eyes.

“What's so funny?” He asked. John smiled and looked down, tracing Sherlock's collarbones with his eyes.

“I was just imagining you as a cat.” The taller boys brow furrowed against his and John laughed.

“I’m not a cat.” He grumbled

“No?” John reached up a hand to scratch behind Sherlock’s ear lightly, and to his delight, the boy practically purred, leaning into his touch. John moved his scratches along Sherlock’s scalp, and he arched his back and shivered, looking up into John’s eyes. The lustful heat from earlier was gone, but in place of it, a fond smile had overtaken John’s features.

“I like you, John.” He blurted out. “More than a friend, I mean. I mean I-”

“It’s okay, Sherlock.” John interrupted. “I uh… I kinda like you too.” He blushed and looked towards his lap, but he could still see the splitting grin that took over the other boys face, and it made him giddy.

 _I’ve never confessed to anyone before. Hell, I’ve never liked anyone before, but this seems to be going smashingly. John thought._ Sherlock’s hand was on his jaw again, fingers pressed just below his earlobe, tilting John’s face up towards his. John leaned forward to meet Sherlock in the middle for a chaste peck. They both sat still for a few minutes, thinking.

“I don’t know what to do now, John. I’ve never had a friend before, and this… this is completely out of my area. John smiled and swallowed against the butterflies trying to escape from his stomach. The adrenaline from making out had vanished, the heat of lust no longer clouding how awkward this was bound to be.

“To be honest, Sherlock. I’ve never even kissed anyone before. I have just as much of a clue as you do.” Sherlock snorted.

“Great, two socially awkward teenagers falling in love, with no idea what the hell to do about it.” John’s eyes sparkled.

“Love?” Sherlock froze and stared at John like a deer in the headlights.

“We-well, I mean. Certainly not in the fullest aspect, but eventually… Of course.” Both of them were blushing like mad and refusing to meet each other's eyes. John was the first to break the silence.

“Should we talk about, you know… our bodies and stuff?” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” John shrugged nervously.

“I mean… Like where its okay to touch and what not.” Sherlock still looked at him in confusion, silently asking him to explain more. John sighed and pointedly looked down into his lap.

“I don’t want you to touch my chest.” He stated bluntly. Realization dawned on Sherlock’s face.

“Oh.” He said softly. “That’s fine, John. I just didn’t think about that.” John nodded, still looking into his lap. Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Actually um, I have a request as well.” John glanced up at him and nodded. “Please, what ever situation we’re in, just don’t call me anything feminine.” John smiled softly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, handsome.” He said with a wink. Sherlock went scarlet and stood from the bed.

“Right then, should I be calling you a ride home then?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, going to dial the chauffeur, but John reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“No, Sherlock, can I… Can I stay the night?” Sherlock gulped.

“What about your parents?” John snorted.

“They’re probably both passed out drunk right now, Harry’s probably not even home. And besides, you owe me a Christmas present.” He smiled. Sherlock nodded.

“That's all very well and good, but I do have some experiments to attend to.” John nodded his consent and Sherlock climbed down the ladder to his lab. John sighed and looked at the huge closet to his left. He could only see day clothes hanging up, and he would need some pjs to change into. He shouted down to Sherlock who directed him to a dresser right in front of him. Inside he found several pairs of fluffy pants and loose tshirts. John stripped down to his underwear and his “binder” which consisted of two small tank tops that did an adequate job of keeping him flat. A month or so after their meeting, Sherlock had talked him into finding safer ways to bind, considering he demolished every offer Sherlock made to buy him a legitimate binder. He steeled himself and squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to watch his flat-ish chest inflate as he took off the tank tops. He quickly pulled the large t-shirt over his head, then the fuzzy grinch pants he found.

_Because of course Sherlock has extremely adorable fuzzy pj pants. What else would he have?_

John combed his fingers through his hair and pulled back one side of Sherlock’s messily made bed. He snuggled down into the blankets and nuzzled his face into one of Sherlock’s pillows, inhaling the scent and relaxing against the mattress. It wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep, surrounded by Sherlock’s scent and warm blankets.

 

* * *

 

 

A few hours later, Sherlock finished documenting his experiments and getting them ready for the next day. He rubbed his eyes blearily before discarding his tshirt and jeans in the pile of laundry in the corner. Climbing up the ladder into his room was a task, his eyes were so droopy. He barely remembered to take his binder off before crawling into his bed, which just so happened to have a very warm and snugly John inside of it. Sherlock curled up around his back and wrapped his arms around him. John made a few indistinct words, shifting a bit, before he settled down in Sherlock’s arms, and both boys drifted off to sleep. 


End file.
